


Soft

by evening_spirit



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know what I wrote, Lots of Angst, M/M, awkward attempt at writing smut, i was just searching for the right voices, internalized ableism, oh and cuddling, semi-positive ending, this is a trial run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19165621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evening_spirit/pseuds/evening_spirit
Summary: Season One, Episode Three AU. Alex doesn't walk away. What happens?





	Soft

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the tags, this is my first fooray in the Malex fandom, please, be gentle. :)
> 
> Great thanks to [hithelleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithelleth/pseuds/hithelleth) for handholding and encouragement and to [hannah-writes](https://hannah-writes.tumblr.com) (sorry, lost you again on AO3, im a potato :\ ) for beta and encouragement. As you see, I needed a lot of encouragement.
> 
> I allowed myself to base Alex's thought process on some brilliant meta that one of you wrote somewhere (I'm sure you'll recognize), but I can't remember who that was and where. Just. It's the genius of the fandom hive mind, amirite? Anyway, thank you for being brilliant and if someone can point me to that meta, I'd be eternally grateful.

 

 

* * *

 

He has it all planned out as he approaches Guerin's truck. He knows exactly what he's going to say; what he has to say, because things are what they are. And it's not that he believes his father – that Guerin being a small town criminal matters. No, what he knows as a fact, is that Master Sergeant Manes can make it matter.

So he goes to Guerin determined to end it and Guerin looks him up and down and gives him that crooked not-quite-a-smile and asks, "Wanna go for a ride?" with eyes bright and filled with promise.

Alex has, "this isn't gonna work," at the tip of his tongue, just like he rehearsed, but takes a beat. Then another.

Then, "What is it you want, Guerin?" he asks instead (it doesn't matter what _he_ wants)

Guerin's brow furrows in a silent question. What's this about?

"What do you expect from this?" Alex reiterates but that doesn't make it any more clear, so he reminds him of this morning. "You want to tell Isobel about us? All of our friends? Wanna go on dates, what?"

Guerin shrugs with one arm, playing with car-keys in his hands. He keeps looking straight at Alex. "Isobel is my family," he says eventually.

Alex hates himself for this, but there's no other way.

"I can't give you that," he says.

Guerin drops his gaze to his boots, kicks a stone, then looks up with a tight-lipped smile and shrugs again. "Well, in that case sex will have to do. At least it's epic." And he smiles wider this time, bold, cocky. Teeth showing and eyes crinkling at the corners.

Alex's own face relaxes, a breath he was holding finds release in a deep exhale.

"I'll--" he hesitates, but then he finishes the sentence. "I'll catch up with you. In. A short while."

"The airstream?"

"Yeah."

"And then you'll vanish before dawn."

"And then I will vanish."

* * *

The closer he gets to Guerin's airstream, the more his doubts resurface. Alex feels like he's being pulled in both directions and he has no idea how much tensile strength he has left. It doesn't seem either of the concepts that hold a tight grip on his beingness could give any time soon. His father's thinly veiled warning almost worked, he almost decided that cutting off the line that holds him to Guerin, would mean doing it _for_ Guerin in fact, but then he looked at his face and he faltered.

And now he's going back. He doesn't hesitate. He drives through the gate, parks the car, takes his crutch and steps out, onto the gravel. He limps toward the airstream and has a teeny-tiny jolt of panic, for a split second, as he grabs the handle of the door. He pulls it open in a smooth move though; anyone watching from the outside wouldn't notice any hiccup there. This is what he wants (it doesn't matter what he wants).

Guerin waits for him, undressed. Naked. Bare skin smooth in the faint moonlight coming in through deformed blinds. He's sprawled on his narrow bed, his limbs and torso occupying more of its surface than they should be allowed to. Legs splayed out, he's scratching his balls in slow, lazy movements, his dick already jutted out, shining and slick.

Alex feels little butterflies flutter in his underbelly. He puts away the crutch and reaches to the flaps of his denim to take it off, to undress himself, but Guerin rises his other palm, the broken one, like he's pushing him away. "Stay there," his mouth speak without voice.

The fingers that have been scratching, now curl around the base of his cock. He moves them up, then down, then up again, fingernails catching against the delicate skin.

Butterflies in Alex's own cock become humming-birds, then sparks of fire.

His hips move forward on their own volition. He takes a step and leans against the headboard, despite Guerin shaking his head. Unbuttons his pants.

Guerin's upper lip contorts, he bares his teeth for a moment, like a feral coyote, then his hips jerk too and the movements of his hand become more determined. Still infuriatingly slow, but harder. Harder.

Alex unzips his fly.

Guerin's free hand goes to his face, to his mouth, knuckles between his teeth as he bites and his eyes close.

"Look at me," Alex whispers and pulls out his very ready cock. He adjusts the speed and the pressure of his strokes to Guerin's.

Guerin blinks and whimpers. He can't handle this self-imposed distance and Alex knows it. He knows _he_ would, teasing, delay, declining, that's _his_ game. Guerin is impatient, greedy. He's on his knees in front of Alex in one swift move, touching, grabbing, his lips eager for contact.

His head is just low enough that Alex would have to bow to appease Guerin's want. He doesn't.

"Thought you wanted no touching?" He still only touches himself with one hand and grips the headboard with the other.

"I lied," Guerin groans and grabs him, pulls him toward himself by the loops of his pants; he tears the jacket off Alex's arms. "I want to feel your skin."

He's too rough and too fast and Alex loses his balance. They fall with a yelp, Guerin on his back and Alex breaks his fall by bracing his hands against the bed. That moment of losing ground under his... under the part of his leg that didn't yet learn the art of proprioception – it made his stomach drop in fear, but his body didn't fail. He's got three solid points of support now and the rush of adrenaline draws a bark of laughter out of his mouth. Michael laughs too and he's lovely. Eyes bright, lips pink and soft. Alex leans in now and kisses and savors the warmth, this distinctive heat that is Michael.

Why would he ever want to walk away from this?

(it doesn't matter what he wants)

He pulls his other knee onto the mattress in an attempt to straighten up and take his shirt off, but it's awkward and crampy with the prosthesis on.

This time discomfort pulls him out of the moment.

It's different. Everything is different, every day, but this, sex? It used to be spontaneous, especially with Michael and now, if he remembers ahead of time to take the thing off, it's alright. Their bodies can work around the lack of the leg, at least he can still kneel. When this happens though? When Michael starts to play before Alex has prepared himself? This sucks.

He drops to a seat at the edge of the bed, frustration buzzing in his veins. Michael keeps his mouth on Alex, on his arm, and he doesn't see his face. Which is okay. It's okay. Michael's hands wander in mirroring movements up and down his stomach and his back. He pushes them under his shirt, moves up. Top button unhooked, he pulls it over Alex's head, breaking lips-to-skin contact for a nanosecond only.

Alex breathes in and out, his mouth open, his eyes closed. He doesn't make a single move otherwise. He doesn't understand why. What's the matter with him?

Michael pulls away.

Cold air brushes against Alex's skin. Michael's left palm rests on his thigh and his right forefinger runs circles on the small of his back.

"What's going on?" he whispers.

This is it. The inevitable.

"This isn't going to work," Alex sighs and wipes his hand over his face. He can't look at Michael.

"Why?"

"For so many reasons. Too many..."

"Nah." Michael shakes his head. He changes position to a more confrontational one, right leg under left thigh, ass firmly planted on the bed. Chest open and hands spread wide as he asks, "What did your father say?"

His posture speaks louder than words. "Lay it all out on me. I can take it."

"It's not about what he said," Alex tries in a small voice and just as he says those words, he knows he's lying. "Okay, it is. But this time he's right, you know. You..." he shrugs. He can't say it. He can't accuse Michael of being a thief and a lowlife, when he knows very well why he ended up this way. Oh, of course it was probably a series of circumstances but the stone that started this avalanche? That was him. That was putting him on his damn father's radar. He starts from a different angle. "I am an airman. I'm a fucking Air Force Captain."

"Well that's kinda' hot," Michael mutters, then, "sorry, you were sayin'."

Alex finally meets his eyes. He searches for the same turmoil he's feeling but finds none. Michael's eyes are gentle and filled with longing. Open and trusting.

Hurting him is the last thing Alex wants but he doesn't know how to get what he wants. (it doesn't matter. it doesn't)

"I have a ridiculously high clearance," he tries to explain the reasoning, the rationalization behind what is plain and simple – his father's homophobia. "I'm compromised by just... Just thinking about you! If this gets out..." He runs his hand through his hair and leaves it up there, scratching his nape. He's a few months away from honorable discharge and VA benefits, he can't afford to lose that. And his father can make it happen, this and who knows what else, who knows how much more.

Michael's hand joins his at the top of his back. He's warm. Hot. Comforting.

"We can keep it the way it is. No one will have to know. Sure, I want to tell Isobel and Max, but I don't have to." He tousles his hair. "Okay?"

"I have to do something about him," Alex replies and a plan begins to form in his head. There's already things he knows about his father. He needs to dig a little bit deeper, he has to focus on the task and, unlike years ago, now he has the training and he knows how to get resources to do all that.

He pushes to his feet, zips up his pants and bows down to pick up his shirt from the floor of the trailer.

"What are you gonna do?" Michael asks, brow furrowed.

"This is not your concern." Alex dresses himself up. "We have to break it off, for a few weeks, I can't afford to be distracted and this sneaking around and being constantly afraid for you, this... This is distracting."

"I won't let you go at him alone." Michael stands up to level with him. Only he's naked, while Alex is fully dressed. Even their height difference, reduced by Michael's lack of boots, works in Alex's advantage now.

"I said, this is none of your concern."

"Yes it is." Michael puts up his left, deformed hand. "And I can defend myself."

"Oh can you?"

There is something about Michael, there always was something that, even when he's naked like this, makes him look like he has the power. Or maybe it's just that he has the ultimate power over Alex, over his heart.

He wants to be a part of this and he's determined, he's made up his mind. How can Alex tell him to not be his partner in everything, if this is exactly what he had ever wanted? (does it matter though?)

"I. Can." Michael repeats, making each word its own sentence. He lays his hands on Alex's chest and closes the gap between them. Presses his forehead against Alex's and they stay like this for a long, long moment. If it was up to Alex, he wouldn't break the contact at all.

But Michael says, fake annoyed, "And now I have to undress you all over again," as he begins to unbutton Alex's shirt.

Alex grabs his wrists.

"I don't know if--" he halts.

Michael narrows his eyes at him. "You don't know if-- you want to have sex?" he finishes for him. "Isn't that what you came here for?"

Alex looks at Michael's naked body in front of him, his shoulders, messy curls on his chest. His eyes and his beautiful lips. And, okay, this is what he came here for. He angles his head and makes contact and the kiss is as spectacular as ever, but he slows it down. He wants a different pace, he wants to taste Michael, to delight in the experience.

Michael finally takes off the shirt and takes to unfastening Alex's pants, but he pulls away a little and inclines his head as he looks deep into Alex's eyes.

"If you want to cuddle though?" he teases gently. "I'm up for that too."

Yes, Alex thinks, astounded. The tension he's been feeling all day seems to flow down like the dam opened, down to the ground, leaving his body tired and vacant. He doesn't want anything mind-blowing today. But he doesn't want to be alone either.

He only nods, without a word (is it important? what he wants?) and lets Michael pull his pants down to his knees. Sits down and reaches into the pants' leg to press the pin on the prosthesis and release the socket. Michael slides it off along with the rest of his pants and suddenly the moment feels much more intimate than their earlier sexually charged duel. By the look of awe in Michael's eyes Alex knows he's not alone with the sentiment, that it is shared.

Having gotten rid of the liner and underwear, Alex slides under the covers next to Michael and into his warmth and quiet resilience. In just a few heartbeats he slips out of consciousness, secure in Michael's arms, soothed by an occasional kiss to his temple.

* * *

.end

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


End file.
